Winning the Game
by Blondified
Summary: (Re-uploaded) Paul and Peter get some funding and the game is changed completely.
1. Awake

**A/N: Hi, this is Blondified (previously TheFunnySide). I had to re-upload this story because I lost my password to my old account! ****So, here is "Winning the Game" once again!**

I wake up with a loud groan, the ache in my temples making just lifting my head difficult. I start to lift my hands to rub away the pain, keeping my eyes closed for the time being, but I am stopped by something wrapped around my wrists. Fear holds my whole body in an icy grip.

I open my eyes to find out exactly where I am, and that is when I find that my vision is absent as well. My speech seems to be gone, too, although there isn't anything impeding it. I'm simply too frightened to scream. My body is unable to move, what with it being bound to a chair, but my mind is running haywire, wondering where I am and _why _I am there. I shiver as several equally frightening reasons flash through my brain. I resent my overactive imagination.

My breath hitches when I hear the creak of what sounds like a large metal door opening, and I flinch when it shuts with a loud _bang_. The sound of dress shoes slowly coming towards me puts me on edge even more.

The noise stops in front of me and my blindfold is slowly removed. There is a man standing before me, a slight smile on his face. I would have thought him handsome, had this been another situation. He's wearing a nice, white button-down and white pants to match. His black dress shoes are the only thing that stand out. His light blonde hair is neatly combed, but his face looks a bit disheveled, like he hasn't slept much lately. I stare at him silently, observing.

He eyes me back curiously.

"Hello," he says finally. He speaks quietly, but his voice holds strength. I don't respond immediately, and I see slight irritation flicker across his features, then disappear just as quickly.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of the quiet game," he says after a few moments of silence from me. "It's not as fun as the other games we could be playing." The words are laced with an unknown threat, but are somehow said jokingly at the same time.

I feel my own annoyance, anger, and confusion bubble to the surface, clouding over my fear. "Well, what am I supposed to say? 'Oh, hi there! Nice weather we're having'?" I ask sarcastically, my voice shaking nonetheless.

He laughs lightly. "No, I guess not. But it _is _rude to ignore someone. You don't want to be rude, do you?"

My brow furrows slightly at how lightly this man is speaking, like he did this all the time. _He probably does, _I think darkly. I just stare at him blankly. What does politeness matter? He's the one who's kidnappedme!

Suddenly my head is whipped to the left, and there is a loud _crack_. My cheek explodes in pain and my ear rings a little.

He _slapped _me.

I blink back the tears that automatically rushed to my eyes. It didn't hurt so much as it humiliated and frustrated me that I couldn't fight back.

I turn my head slowly to him, shocked and outraged. He actually looks a little sheepish.

"You wouldn't answer me. I have a very low tolerance for impolite behavior. It doesn't have to be like that, though. As long as you stay polite and respectful, things don't have to get _too _ugly. Okay?" He smiles politely at me, clearly waiting for me to respond. My fear finally starts to outweigh my anger, so I force myself to respond.

"Okay," I agree quietly. The man clasps his hands together, pleased. "Awesome! Then we can get started." He kneels down and moves to untie me from the chair. I watch him, confused.

He stops at only one hand, though. He reaches out his own hand. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Paul." He continues to hold his hand out. I hesitantly take it. "And you are?" he prompts.

I swallow, preparing myself to attempt to speak civilly to a kidnapping asshole that slapped me not 2 minutes ago. "Sally."

"Nice to meet you, Sally! See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" I nod my head robotically. He nods in approval. "I apologize for any discomfort, but I'm going to have to tie you back down." I panic at these words. Paul grabs my wrist just as I try to yank it away from him. I start pulling at my bonds everywhere else on the chair, but it's getting me nowhere. I continue anyway. Paul sighs, displeased.

"You know, I thought we were getting somewhere, Sally. But you're just like the rest. All you do is try and get away, even if you _know _it's not gonna happen." He ties my wrist a little too tightly to the arm of the chair and gets up swiftly. He looks over behind me, slightly to my left, and a delighted smile appears on his face, replacing the scolding expression he wore just a moment before. "Oh! It looks like your friend is waking up, too!"

My friend? My chest fills with dread. How many other people has he taken? Do I know them all?

My chair is being pulled back, now. It squeaks a little as it's dragged across the white tile floor. I finally see who he is talking about. There's another girl, in a similar position as me: tied to a chair, blindfolded, and disoriented. A curtain of black hair blocks her face.

She lifts her head up, seeming panicked already. Paul moves over to her, lifting her blindfold as well. The girl looks up at him, terrified. I realize with horror that I know who this is. She goes to school with me; we're both seniors. Her name is Jean, we recently started becoming friends. I eye her with panic and dismay.

"Who are you?" she asks him, her eyes wide. "Sally? Where are we?" she asks me pleadingly.

"I don't know," I say quietly, willing her to calm down with my eyes. It doesn't work. She's still freaked out.

Paul does that stupid polite smile again. "I'm Paul. I see you and Sally already know each other. I didn't happen to catch your name."

"I'm not telling you my name, you psycho! Let me go!" Jean starts struggling in her bonds desperately. I think she might be having a panic attack. "_Let me go_!" she shouts. Paul grabs her hair and pulls her head back. She stops moving immediately, but terror is plainly written on her face.

"I'd like it," Paul hisses, "if you would _behave_. That makes it easier for everyone involved. I just got done having this discussion with our dear little Sally over there, didn't I?" The question is directed at me.

"Just… do what he says, Jean," I mumble unhappily.

"That's the spirit!" he responds cheerily. "So, that's your name, huh? Jean? It's pretty. It suits you," he adds with a wink. Jean doesn't say anything. Paul frowns. "What, I don't get a 'thank you'? Are you really so snobby as to not thank someone who just gave you a compliment?" Paul grabs one of her fingers and snaps it back. There's a "crack" and Jean lets out an ear splitting scream. I wince and turn my head away, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.

"_Thank you! THANK YOU!" _she shrieks desperately. Paul lets go of her finger, still looking like he's in disbelief.

"You act like it's so _difficult. _Just treat me civilly and I won't hurt you...Well, that's a lie. Treat me civilly and I won't hurt you too badly." He takes a step back, facing both of us. I look at the floor. The room is silent, other than Jean's sniveling. I don't blame her. I'm pretty sure he broke her finger.

Paul breaks the silence after a few seconds. "Hey! I know what would be fun! Why don't we… play a game?" He says it like it's the best idea in the world.

"Oh, yeah, let's break out the fuckin' Monopoly board," I say cuttingly. Paul laughs.

"No, we're gonna play a _fun_ game. I know you'll like it." He walks over to Jean and unties her hands, not being careful of her finger. She looks up at him confusedly.

"W-why are you untying me?" she asks, tears slowing a bit.

"It'd be less fun to play with you tied down, stupid." He smacks her on the back of the head none-too-gently. She glares up at him. I notice he's being significantly more violent with Jean. Paul moves over to me. He gives me a wicked grin, and I stare blankly at him.

I am now unrestrained from the chair, but now my wrists are tied behind my back. I stay seated, wary about what sort of game Paul _really _wants to play. I notice that he's waiting for me to stand, so I do so slowly, with minor difficulty. Jean appears to think following my lead is a good idea, and I'm glad for that. I don't want her to get hurt. I really don't.

Paul claps his hands together, smiling brightly at us. "This game is called, 'Remember, Remember.' I take it you've never played before." He looks at both of us for an answer.

"I've never heard of it," I answer honestly, giving Jean a prompting look.

"M-me neither," she chokes out, obviously trying to block out the pain in her hand.

"Awesome, I get to teach you! So, how the game works is I ask you a question, and if you get it right, then you don't get a penalty, but the other player does. _But_, if you get it wrong, _you _get a penalty. Do you understand?"

I am unconvinced. It sounds sketchy. "What are the penalties?" I ask slowly. Paul grins at me devilishly.

"There are all _kinds _of penalties. You'll find out soon. Before we start, I should probably call someone in to help…" He wanders toward the door, pressing what looks like an intercom button. "Hi, could you send Tubby to room 1594 please? Thank you!" Wait, is this some kind of joke? How many rooms are in… wherever we are? And who the fuck is "Tubby"?

Suddenly there's a buzz sound and the door opens. A man walks in, professionally dressed and young-looking. I assume that this is the aforementioned "Tubby". He has blonde hair, darker than Paul's, but he looks younger and a bit shy, almost. I try to watch him carefully. Although he seems harmless, I remind myself that he's working with a sicko.

"Tubby! Glad you could finally make it," he cheers, clapping the man on the back. The man jerks away from Paul's hand, looking annoyed and a bit... hurt?

"I thought you were done calling me that! It's so embarrassing when you do it in front of people, especially the players!" 'Tubby' whines. Paul gives him a slightly apologetic look, but it looks more like he's mocking him than anything.

"I'm sorry, Peter. Would it make you feel better if we bought a box of donuts later? Well, only if you s_hare_-" Peter, as I learned his name must be, punches Paul in the chest, sniffling a little.

"Shut _up_, Paul! You know I'm sensitive about my weight!" He sounds as if he's about to cry, I realize with shock. Jesus, I'm dealing with a sociopath _and _his emotionally unstable friend. I make eye contact with Jean, who shares my bewildered look.

"Alright, Tubby, calm down. Let's just play the game, OK?" he asks Peter with a grin. Peter glares at him for a moment, until Paul nudges him in the side, making Peter laugh.

"Fine," Peter agrees, laughter in his voice. He is seemingly no longer upset, and he turns to Jean and I. Paul gestures to Peter. "Jean, Sally, this is Peter. Peter, that is Jean, and that's Sally. Now that everyone's acquainted..." He motions Peter towards Jean, and I watch him, alarmed.

Just then, I hear a racket of metal hitting metal. I look over at Paul in horror. He has opened a drawer out of the wall and taken out a small, incredibly sharp looking knife.

He walks towards me. "Alrighty Sally, here's your first question: Where were you before you were taken here?" I stare at him, my mind a blank. I can't remember. I have no idea. I don't even know how long I've been here. I swallow my terror and confusion, forcing myself to search my brain. "Tick tock goes the clock, princess," Paul warns, a nasty smirk growing on his face like a disease.

I let out a shaky breath, terrified of what's to come. "I-I was at h-home-" I begin, hoping I'm at least partially correct, but I don't get to finish because the tiny knife slices a long, thin line into my abdomen. I scream in pain, unable to bear the stinging wound that is now flowing freely with blood. Tears of pain and panic leak from my eyes, against my will, and I double over slightly, trying to relieve the pain somehow without the use of my hands.

"Wrong answer," he states simply. He looks over at Jean, who is already crying, and makes some kind of motion at Peter, who shoves her backwards onto her chair from earlier.

"Tubby, ask Jeannie - I can call you Jeannie, can't I? - Anyway, ask Jeannie a question. You can pick." Peter smiles hesitantly, looking at Jean thoughtfully. He glances back at me and giggles a bit. "What's her last name?" he asks her quietly, indicating me with a nod of his head. My mouth falls open in shock. That's the easiest question he could possibly ask!

She stares up at him confusedly. "It's... Elmore," she answers hesitantly.

"Correct!" Peter approves enthusiastically. "Paul." He signals him. I gape at him, appalled and horrified. He gave her an easy question on purpose! I don't have much time to dwell on this as I am soon cut into once more, this time from the shoulder to the collarbone. I shriek in agony, finally starting to break down. Hot tears slide down my face and I let out a sob. This is the worst pain I've ever been in. I take in a deep, shuddering breath, my jaw setting.

"You did that on purpose," I manage to grind out, staring at Peter in utter hatred. Peter looks angry now.

"Jerry, did she just accuse me of cheating?" Paul shrugs, looking overdramatically befuddled.

"I don't know, Tom. You followed the rules, didn't you?" Peter nods enthusiastically. Paul smiles. "Then you have nothing to worry about. And Sally, that isn't very nice to falsely accuse someone of something without any proof. I think you should apologize."

"I think _you _should be the one to _fucking _apologize for fucking STABBING ME!" I scream out at him. I am breathing in shallow gasps, waiting for his retaliation. He doesn't react violently, like I thought he would. Instead, he does something worse.

"You know what? This gives me an idea. I have a new game to play!"


	2. Remember

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, I've had a really hard time getting inspiration. WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of sexual assault.**

I shake my head. "No, no more games, _please._" Paul looks hurt. I know he's faking it. I don't think he's done one honest thing so far.

"Well, since you didn't seem to enjoy the first game very much, I thought we'd play a new one. It's like the Quiet Game, but... more interesting." Yeah. I'd like to see his definition of "interesting". Peter now has a wide grin on his face. Apparently he likes this game. I interpret this as a bad thing.

"Can I explain it to them?" he practically begs. Paul glares at him.

"Tubby, can you shut your fat mouth for just a _minute_?" Paul asks, sounding exasperated. "Anyway, before Peter rudely interrupted me, I was going to explain the rules. First, you and Jeannie sit back to back. Like this, here-" Paul starts moving me towards the center of the room, near Jean. I panic, _really _not liking the sound of a new game already, so I kick out at him, making him fall, and try to run to the door. I barely make two steps when Paul grabs my ankle and yanks me backwards, causing me to let out a startled yelp. I slam down on the ground, biting my lip in the process. I moan in pain, feeling blood run down my chin. Paul kicks me in the abdomen, where he cut me, for good measure, then grabs me by my upper arm and lifts me up. I'm incredibly dizzy and disoriented now, so I let him drag me to Jean.

"Y'know, Sally, as time goes on, I'm liking you less and less!" Paul exclaims. "I'm disappointed. We seemed to be getting along nicely earlier. You were being such a good sport!" He sighs and shakes his head. I hear Jean crying behind me. I assume that she's as disturbed as I am by all the violence. I desperately want to comfort her, but can't think of anything to say or do.

"Anyway," Paul drags the word out, "the rules! In this game, you will experience many different... _sensations._" I swallow at his choice of words. "You have to be able to keep quiet and not make a sound before the other person. It's really a test of... stamina. Whoever makes a noise first, any noise at all, loses." I stare at him in disgust. He catches my look and smirks in pure enjoyment and satisfaction.

"I don't wanna play," Jean moans miserably. Paul frowns with false sympathy.

"Oh, it's not that hard a game, Jeannie! Here, why don't you just give it a shot? We'll start off easy." Peter waltzes over to Jean, and somehow I get stuck with Paul. He gives me an animalistic grin and holds eye contact with me as he says, "Ready... set... begin."

Paul rips open the front of my sweater, a few buttons flying away. I jump in surprise but am careful not to make a sound. I feel Jean shaking slightly behind me; I have no idea if anything's happened to her yet or if she is reacting to what just happened to me. He pushes the sweater down my shoulders, exposing my chest. My breathing gets quicker as he roughly grabs my breast over my bra. I am getting increasingly uncomfortable, feeling my face heat up, but I do not look away. I refuse to back down, especially to this jackass. However, I feel Jean moving around behind me, and I hear a tiny noise of protest come from her, then a sniffle. They must not have heard her, for the game doesn't stop. I want to glance back to see if she's alright, but Paul holds my gaze as his hands slide down, down, down...

I bite my lip to keep back a squeak as he rubs me over my jeans. My face gets even hotter and I finally look away from him, letting out a shuddered breath and, to my dismay, a few frustrated and embarrassed tears leak from my eyes. This is the worst moment of my life. Jean is squirming around behind me, her breathing getting louder. I almost forget about my own predicament until Paul's hand goes under my jeans, making me gasp in surprise and feel extremely violated. He is simply staring at me, a ghost of a smile on his face and his eyes full of something that looks like lust. I almost let out a noise, until, to my horror, I hear Jean shout "_Stop! _Please stop!" She gasps immediately, as if she's just realized what she's done wrong, but it's too late. Paul stands up slowly, almost reluctantly, I notice, and walks over to where I cannot see.

"No, no, please I didn't mean t-" Jean's pleas are cut off by a loud crunch, followed shortly by a horrible shriek, then panicked sobs and sounds of utter agony.

I cannot react. I am simply unable to. I feel the tears running down my cheeks, but my thoughts aren't processing. I don't even know what they did to her, but the never-pausing sounds of anguish prove that it was god awful.

I hang my head and close my eyes, feeling utterly exhausted already. I don't know how much time has passed, and I honestly don't think it's been much, but I feel like I've been being tortured for days on end. Hell, maybe I have. It's not like I even remember where I was before this.

These thoughts remind me of the slices on my stomach, which sting a bit more at the sudden memory of their existence. I look down to see that the bleeding has stopped, but obviously the pain has not. My sweater, which is now halfway off my torso, clings to me from all the sticky blood that came from the wounds. I feel slightly nauseous from the sight, so I look away and to my left, which is where Paul and Peter have now moved. It looks like they're discussing something. I have no idea what. Peter looks annoyed with Paul. Jean is still sobbing loudly. I do not react.

Eventually their conversation comes to an end. They both start walking towards the door, Paul addressing Jean and I as he walks, "It's been fun… well, for us it has, but we've decided to give you two a break while Peter and I figure some things out, okay?" He reaches to press a button to open the door, but before he gets a chance to, I am up and running at him, an angry scream tearing out of my throat. I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground, and start trying to cause as much damage as I can. I am punching, scratching, and screaming all at once, and my surprise attack has stunned both Paul and Peter from doing anything for a few seconds. Finally, it seems Peter is ready to react, as he has pulled me off of Paul and thrown me to the ground. He starts violently kicking me in the stomach, hitting the cuts there, and making me scream in pain. He looks like he is ready to murder me (not like he wasn't ready to before.) I lose the air from my lungs and can only grimace in pain and try to breathe when Paul pulls Peter off of me and throws him back.

"TUBBY!" he screams at him when he goes for another attack. "Tubby, _stop_. You're being ridiculous. I can handle this myself. I think you should leave." Peter is crying now.

"She attacked you! You just want me to leave so you can _fuck her_!" he screams through tears. My eyes widen and I swallow thickly, tasting blood. The rage that burned through me earlier has abandoned me, leaving me feel icy cold with fear of what's to come once again. Paul raises his eyebrows at Peter.

"What's that to you? Are you jealous or something? You need to get over your little crush on me, Tubby, because I'm not holding back on the game just to spare your feelings."

Peter sobs out loud, pauses for a moment, and presses the button for the door. He glances back at Paul once more, only to see his unchanging expression. He gives me a look of deep hatred before the door closes. I let out a shuddering breath. Jean's stopped making noise altogether. She's staring blankly at the wall, probably in shock. I look up at Paul, who has scratches down his cheek and a busted lip, and... he smiles at me.

Suddenly I'm being violently pinned to the floor, and I let out a scream of surprise and protest. Paul grabs my wrists and brings my hands over my head, straddling my lower half. He has a dirty smirk on his face and I start squirming with all my might. I start crying because I know what's coming and I _do not want it whatsoever. _I notice Paul seemingly has no trouble holding me in place so I fight harder, tiring myself out a little. I cannot give up. I cannot let this happen.

"Shh, Sally, it's okay. This is just another game. It's called 'Save Your Own Skin.' The way it works is, if Jeannie over there decides to get up and take your place, then you get to sit out for this round. If she decides to sit there and be a baby about her broken hand instead and not do anything, then you have to play. Got it?"

"No! Get off me! GET OFF ME!" I scream, sobbing loudly. "Please, please, I don't want to play, please leave me alone…" My pleading drifts off into tears and whimpers. Paul rips my sweater over my head and starts kissing my neck, biting occasionally and making me cry out in slight pain.

"Please, no," I beg, squeezing my eyes shut. This is it. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't-

"I remember why I'm here," Jeannie says quietly. I almost do not hear her over my own cries. Her statement causes both Paul and I to freeze. Paul looks confused, then annoyed.

"That's not supposed to happen," he says bluntly. He looks down at me, sighs, and says, "I'll have to get back to you, Sally." He releases me from his grip, but I don't dare move. I simply lay there, silent tears streaming down my face.

Paul goes over to Jean and wrenches her up and towards the door. I realize that he's taking her away from me.

"Be back soon," he promises as the door shuts.

I am alone. I want to die.

**A/N: Another chapter completed! Hopefully I still have people reading. I'm gonna try to start updating this more often. There will probably be more disturbing content as this goes on, just a warning. Thanks for reading.**


	3. Answers

I'm not sure how long I've been lying there, but it somehow soothes me after a while of barely moving. However, the silence in the room starts to unnerve me.

After a little while, I move to get up. I sniffle, putting my hands palm-down on the floor and use all my strength to push up. My arms are shaky, but I somehow manage to sit up. Being off the cold floor feels better, and I rub my arms with my hands to warm up. My bare arms. I instantly remember that I am shirtless. Although no one is here with me, I feel my face heat up, and I grab my sweater and tug it back over my head, trying to be careful of my wounds. I sit for a while more, hugging my knees to my chest, unsure of what to do.

What did Jean mean by "I remember why I'm here"? Does that mean we're in this room for a reason? Is this hell? Have I died and gone to hell? It seems like the most likely situation. Paul and Peter do seem to resemble fallen angels, in their white clothing and their pretty faces…

No. I need to stop thinking like that. There is a reasonable explanation for this situation I am in, and I am completely innocent in all of this.

Right?

I shake my head to clear it. No sense in blaming myself. I have to figure out a way to get out of here. I eye the intercom button, and the button next to it that unlocks the door. I hesitantly move toward them. First I try the button for the door, knowing the attempt is futile immediately as I press it. I look closer. It appears to only register for certain fingerprints. Goddamnit.

I take a deep breath to calm myself and press the intercom button.

"Hello?" I whisper, terrified that Paul or Peter will be the ones to hear me. I swallow nervously before continuing. "Please, if somebody can hear me, please help me. I want to go home. I want my mom." Tears start slipping down my cheeks and I feel myself breaking down. I release the intercom button. No one responds. I take a shuddering breath and then I remember the drawers in the walls. I look over to them slowly. Will they open? Probably not. But it won't hurt to give it a shot.

I run to the drawers full of weapons. I tug on the handle and am shocked, _literally. _I let go immediately, but I still feel the jolting pain from the electricity. Apparently it _will _hurt to give it a shot. There's a number pad below the drawer. I don't know the fucking password.

This is the final straw. I break down fully now, sobbing and clutching the wall to hold myself up. I'm never getting out of here. I'm going to die in here. I'm –

The door makes the buzzing sound of it unlocking. Has someone come to let me out? I stand up and move towards the door slowly. It opens. There is a blur of white and suddenly Peter is above me, his hands tightening around my neck.

I bring my fist up and somehow it collides with Peter's face. I crawl desperately toward the door. It closes just as I reach to hold it open. Peter grabs my ankle and pulls me back towards him. I almost give up fighting, the disappointment of near-escape getting to me, but I twist my leg around in his grip, kicking wherever I can reach. He doesn't give up, though, and flips me over so that I'm on my back. He gets back on top of me and throttles me once again. I scratch desperately at his hands on my throat, unable to breathe. I notice that he's crying and repeating, "What does he see in you?" The edges of my vision begin to turn black, and I feel myself getting weaker. Giving up feels like a good idea right now. I stop flailing my arms around and feel myself sinking into unconsciousness. God, I'm going to die.

Suddenly Peter's hands are gone from my throat and all I can do is gasp for air. I cough and pant and focus on the fact that yes, I am still alive. I'm not sure if this is a good thing yet.

Once I've recovered slightly, I sit up and see that Paul has been in the room for quite some time now as he stands angrily above Peter.

"What the fuck, Tubby? You're supposed to play _nice_."

"I'm sick of you always flirting with her! You never treat the other players like that! What's so special about her?" Peter shouts through sobs, standing up. Now I'm worried that Paul is going to off me just to make Peter happy. I'm growing increasingly uncomfortable as the fight progresses, just as Peter seemingly grows more and more upset. I said it once and I'll say it again: _emotionally unstable_.

"What, Tubby, do you just wish I would pay more attention to you, instead? You want me to do this?" Paul marches over to me and kisses me hard, his hand clutching my jaw so that it opens and his tongue gets access to my mouth. As soon as I get over the shock of it, he releases me, pushing me to the ground like I'm worthless.

"Well, Tubby, guess what? That's never going to happen. And if you're going to get upset about a little flirting with a player, then you might as well just leave."

Peter is no longer crying, but his arms are crossed and he's looking at the ground. He doesn't say anything for a long while, until Paul says with a small smile, "What'll it be, Beavis?"

Peter looks up, a small smile of his own on his face. "I wanna keep playing, Butthead."

I am overwhelmed with crushing disappointment and fear. Peter has hated me from the start, and I know he'll do everything he can to make me as miserable as he can. But maybe if Peter's here, Paul won't try anything with me… Small victories.

I can't cherish the victory for very long, though. Peter wipes his nose on his sleeve and says cheerily, "What game should we play next?"

Paul clasps his hands together, as if just remembering I was there at all. "How rude of us! We've ignored our guest for so long. Sally, I'm deeply sorry about that." I glare at him, not responding to his "apology." He rolls his eyes.

"The Quiet Game _again_, Sally? C'mon now, silence doesn't suit you."

"Tell me what happened to Jean," I demand. "What did you do to her?"

Paul looks overdramatically offended. "Why would you assume I did something to hurt poor Jeannie? Personally, I like having more than one player around, but she just had to go. You know how it is."

"Tell me where she is," I say through gritted teeth. I'm so sick of this shit. I want answers _now._

"You want information?" Paul inquires. "I'll give you information." Peter raises his eyebrows, confused. "But only if you're willing to play."

I swallow, then, looking up directly into his eyes, say, "I'll play."

**A/N: And the plot thickens! You'll get a little information about Sally's predicament in the next chapter. I'll try and update a little more frequently. Thanks for reading!**


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